’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. They took their places at a distant table. " "My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. “Thank you both for treating me for all the world like I was your child. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips.
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